Perhaps it was only teaching them how to be lonely.
Outside, the wind rose again, brushing snow against the windows.
Four days remained until Christmas.
Caleb had no idea that before the holiday was over, he would learn the difference between a person who gave because she had plenty and a person who gave because she understood exactly what it meant to go without.
He would learn it from a woman who had arrived at his gate with almost nothing.
And he would learn it on a night when she believed no one was watching.
The next morning, Caleb discovered that Adeline had been awake before the sun again.
He found her outside the chicken coop, wrapped in her worn coat, scattering a handful of grain across the frozen ground. The hens hurried toward her, scratching at the snow, while she stood with her shoulders hunched against the wind.
“You'll freeze out here,” he called.
She turned, surprised.
“I won't be long.”
“You said that yesterday about the laundry. I found you still working when the children went to bed.”
“Laundry doesn't usually require supervision.”
“Neither do chickens.”
Adeline glanced at the birds.
“Some of them appear to disagree.”
Caleb shook his head, but this time a smile escaped him.
It startled them both.
The expression faded quickly from his face, and he looked away as though he had committed some small indiscretion. Adeline pretended not to notice. She finished feeding the hens, then followed him toward the barn.
Inside, the smell of hay and leather wrapped around them. Caleb checked the water trough while Adeline examined the old mare standing in the nearest stall. The animal was gray around the muzzle, with a white patch on her forehead and a disposition that had grown stubborn with age.
“This is Daisy,” Caleb said.
Adeline held out her hand. Daisy sniffed her glove, then nudged her shoulder.
“She seems friendly.”
“She has opinions about most people.”
“Perhaps she simply knows who is worth meeting.”
“Daisy has been known to bite the postman.”
“Perhaps the postman wasn't worth meeting.”
Caleb laughed.
It was a short, rough sound, as though it had been pulled out of him against his will. But it was unmistakably a laugh, and when he saw Adeline's smile, he felt something inside him loosen.
He had not laughed like that since Sarah died.
The realization frightened him enough that he busied himself with the water trough.